An American Werewolf in (the Suburbs of )

London

King’s College Hospital Emergency Room

London, UK

December 5th

It had been a busy night.  Brian Belden swept back the wave of dark hair that kept trying to fall into his face.  He was tired, but it was a good kind of tired.  As he signed off on the broken ankle in room 6 and reached for another chart, he cast a glance at his watch.  11:15 in the evening.  45 more minutes and he would be finished with his fellowship.  45 more minutes and he would close a chapter on one of the most exhausting and rewarding years of his life.

He’d been thrilled at the opportunity to travel to London and study emergency medicine at Kings.  Being away from his family and friends for an entire year had been hard, but two brief trips back to New York had helped, and the fact that his fellow Bob-Whites would be arriving in less than a week to watch him receive the BMA recommendation his hard work had earned.

Brian smiled slightly, having no idea how the tiny quirking of his mouth affected the young woman pushing the mop across the tile floor.  Her heart began to beat a little faster, and she pulled her eyes away. Brian was far too focused on the two weeks he would spend with his best friends—and his best girl in particular.  Two weeks of playing tourist, attending the Fellowship Banquet, and finally packing up his flat and heading back to Sleepyside-on-Hudson in time for Christmas.  43 more minutes.

The distant bee-baw sound of inbound ambulances broke through his reverie.  “Incoming!” came the shout from the front.  “Mr. Belden! I need triage at the dock.  This one’s bloody!”

Immediately Brian snapped back into his surroundings, headed for the ambulance dock at a full run. Sliding his arms into the protective smock offered to him, he focused on the gurney headed at him. “Holy…?” he exclaimed, his eyes taking in the blood soaked monstrosity before him.

“Mugging,” the medic told him.

Brian drew back the sheet. “What the…?  Mugging?  This looks like an animal attacked him.”

“Or mauling,” the medic added with a shrug.  “He’s pretty torn up. Multiple lacerations.  Crushed left hand. And take a look at his neck and face.”

Brian looked at the mutilated form in front of him.  A man, he thought, but the skin around his throat was torn, blood soaking into the shredded remains of his shirt.  His right cheek was slashed, and his right ear was missing.  “This can’t be a mugging.”  Brian shook his head and started calling out orders. “Cross and type.  He’s going to need blood.  Quite a lot of it.  Whatever did this missed the jugular, but not by much.   I’m thinking class II, headed toward class III hemorrhage. We’re going to need surgical, an orthopedist and a plastic surgeon for this one. Right shoulder dislocated and… I don’t even know what this is.  It looks like teeth, not a knife.” His hands moved as if by rote, assessing the damage.  “Broken ulna, right side.  Left hand is…crushed.  Blood is pooling underneath, indicating venal damage. Patient is tachycardic and unresponsive.”  Finishing his triage, Brian handed the patient off to the pre-op team and looked up at the medic.  “What about the other victim?”

“Girl,” came the reply. “Exam two. She’s not as bad:  Just a couple of deep scratches and a shit-load of slime.  She’s out of it though.  Talking nonsense.”

“Slime?” Brian asked, stripping off his gloves and smock and stuffing them into the hazmat bin.  Turning, he slipped into another smock and reached for new gloves.  “What kind of slime?”

“I have no clue,” the medic stated with a shrug.  “Some sort of viscous mucous.”

“So, we’ve got one victim who looks like he’s been run through the meat grinder, and a second who was slimed.”  Brian shook his head.  “What the hell?” 

He pulled aside the curtain to the second examination area and stared.  The girl couldn’t have been out of her teens, at least not by long.  She was slender and delicate looking with dark hair and dark brown sloe eyes that were staring dazed and unfocused at the curtain, as if she were memorizing the pattern of the fabric.  She looked like a wood nymph—one that had fallen into a pool of snot.  The drying stuff covered her face and torso.  A nurse stood next to her, dabbing at the slime with a damp towel, but the girl seemed oblivious.

“What do we have?” he inquired politely, stepping inside the curtained area.

The nurse handed him the chart and began her report.  “According to her identification, this is Lacey Woods.  She is nineteen, and a student at King’s College.  The patient is awake, but unresponsive.  She has deep cuts on her left forearm, three of them.  She’s covered with some sort of slimy substance.”  The nurse turned a confused face to Brian.  “She doesn’t seem to be bothered by it, but the substance is somewhat corrosive.  It has eaten through three towels. We’ve sent it to the lab for examination.  Her arm has been prepped for sutures.”  She stepped aside, allowing Brian to approach the patient.

“I’m Dr. Brian Belden, a Fellow here at King’s,” he said in a calm and precise voice, pulling on his clean gloves.  “I understand your name is Lacey?”  As he touched her arm, she turned her dark eyes to him and nodded.  Encouraged, Brian continued, “So, you’re a student at King’s?” Another nod.  “What are you studying?”

Her eyes snapped back into focus.  “European and Cultural Studies,” she answered, her voice raspy.

“That sounds interesting,” Brian told her, reaching for the disinfectant soaked sponge offered by the nurse.  “Your arm should be numb.  Can you feel this?”  He squeezed the disinfectant over her wounds.”

She shook he head and whispered, “No.”

“Good,” Brian said, beginning to stitch up the first cut.  “I’m putting in about nine stitches in this one, and probably about the same number in the other two.  They’re pretty deep, so I’m going to give you an antibiotic.”

“You don’t need to,” she whispered.  “I just need to go home.  I’m fine.”

“I disagree,” Brian told her.  “You’ve been through a traumatic event, and I don’t know what cut you.  You don’t want an infection, do you?”

She smiled, a little sadly.  “No.  Of course not.”

Brian continued with his work, making his voice as casual as he could.  “So, do you remember what happened?” he asked.

“You wouldn’t believe me,” she whispered.

“Try me,” he encouraged.  “I’ve seen a lot of unusual things.”

“Not this,” she said.  As the nurse stepped away, she seemed to change her mind.  “It was a man,” she whispered.  “At first.  He was…harassing me.  Then the man—the other man—tried to stop him, and he turned…” She stopped, and Brian waited.  And waited.  And waited, his eyes steady.  With a sigh, she continued, “He turned into a wolf.  A big, slobbering wolf, and he tore that man to pieces.”

“Did you actually see him turn into a wolf,” Brian asked, keeping his tone mild.

She sighed again, this time with a tinge of aggravation.  “I knew you wouldn’t believe me.”  She turned her face away from him.

“It’s not that I don’t believe you, Lacey,” Brian assured her, tying off the last suture.  “But you’ve been through a horrible experience.  Men only turn into monsters in horror movies.  Is it possible that the man had a dog with him, and that the dog attacked your rescuer?”

Lacey refused to look at him.  She mumbled, “Of course,” in a barely audible voice.

The nurse moved back in with bandages.  Brian patted Lacey’s shoulder.  “Nurse Chase is going to bandage you up with waterproof dressing and get you a shower and a bed for the night.”

“Thank you,” Lacey responded politely, “But I’d rather just go home.”

“I’d advise you to stay overnight—just for observation.”

“I’m sure you would,” she replied.  “But I assure you that it is unnecessary.”  Her voice was even more clipped and precise than her original accent had been.

“It is, of course, your decision, Miss Woods,” Brian said formally. He scribbled out a prescription and wrote something on the chart. “Goodnight.”

Closing the curtain behind him, he headed for the desk.  It was 12:29 a.m. and he was officially off duty.  He made a quick call up to the psychiatric department and asked for a consult, then turned to the charge nurse and asked, “How’s the victim of the mugging-mauling?”

The nurse shook his head.  “He arrested on the table.  There was just too much blood loss.  I’m sorry.”

Brian nodded.  “Not what I hoped, but not unexpected.”  He held out his hand.  “It’s been a pleasure working with you, Charles.”

“And with you, Dr. Belden,” Charles said, shaking the offered hand.  “You’re a damn fine physician—for a Yank.  Will you be heading home to the States?”

“On the 23rd,” Brian answered.  “But my brother, sister-in-law, sister, fiancée and best friends will be here on the tenth.  So I’ll get to play tourist for a few days.”

“Worked you too hard to sightsee, right?” Charles asked with a grin.

“That is the truth,” Brian replied.  “But I have to admit that I’ve enjoyed almost every minute.  Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Dr.”

Brian collected his things and called for a cab. As he waited beneath the waxing moon, he carefully stored the disturbing events of his last night at the hospital in a locked box in the back of his mind. He had a lot to do to prepare for the rest of the Bob-Whites.

December 7th

Three more days.  Three more days.  The words ran through Brian’s head like a happy mantra.  In three days he would be picking up his Bob-Whites at the airport.  As he walked the aisle of the Sainsbury’s, he went through his mental checklist.  Extra towels? Check.  Air mattresses and sleeping bags? Check.  Maps and event listings? Check.  All that he was missing were a few groceries and the arrival of his friends.  The friends would take care of themselves, but he was here at Sainsbury’s at half past nine in the evening stocking up on a few supplies.  As he walked past the liquor area, Brian impulsively added a bottle of Sainsbury’s blend of Irish whiskey.  Irish versus American whiskey was a long standing disagreement between Dan Mangan and the rest of the Bob-Whites—not that any of them imbibed heavily--and it made Brian smile to imagine the look on Dan’s face when he spotted the bottle.

With his purchases paid for and bagged, Brian headed out of the superstore and back towards his flat.  The moon was shining brightly, lighting the night sky far beyond the city lights.  The air was crisp and frosty, and for once, it wasn’t drizzling.  It was the perfect night to be out and about, and Brian breathed in the cold air contentedly.  He passed a storefront Santa packing up his bell and kettle, and dropped some change in the drum as he passed.

“Thank you, sir,” the Santa said.  “God bless you.”

Brian smiled and nodded, and kept strolling toward his home.  He hadn’t gone two blocks more when a scream pierced the night.

Brian stopped dead in his tracks, his ears attuned for the sound.  He heard the thud of footsteps, and turned to see Santa running around the corner.  A second scream echoed in the dark, this time cut off in mid shriek.  Brian shifted his shopping bags and fished his phone out of his pocket, his fingers dialing 999.  Brian calmly relayed his location and a brief description of the emergency, but ignored the operator’s order to stay put as a third, lower pitched shriek filled the air.  He ran toward the sound, phone still clutched in his hand.

As a doctor, one well trained in emergency medicine, Brian Belden thought he had seen everything.  The scene that greeted him as he dashed around the corner proved him wrong.

Santa was sprawled out on the ground in a widening pool of his own blood, his throat torn out, his head nearly severed from his body. An animal, an enormous, slavering, black beast paced around the unconscious body of a woman, growling and drooling on her, Santa’s blood dripping from its maw.

Brian froze in his tracks, one of the bags falling to the ground.  The beast turned, its eyes focusing on new prey.  Growling, showing bloodstained fangs, it crouched, preparing to leap.   In a reaction that was pure instinct mixed with an incredible amount of luck, Brian grasped the bottle of whiskey by the neck and as his last grocery bag went tumbling, the beast leapt and he swung the bottle with all of his might against the creature’s nose. The bottle shattered, covering the area with whiskey and glass.  The creature tumbled aside, rolled across the ground and regained its feet.  Shaking its head, the beast growled low, a menacing sound.  Brian stared at it, his heart beating painfully in his chest.  Gripping the remains of the whiskey bottle in his fist, he faced off against his attacker. 

The sound of sirens cut through the standoff, and with a disjointed howl, the creature bounded off into the common, leaving Brian standing alone with the victims.

Victims!  The thought hit Brian hard, bringing him back to the situation.  A quick glance at the mangled Santa told him there would be no helping him, but the woman…  Cautiously, his makeshift weapon still clutched in his hand, Brian moved towards her.  She wasn’t breathing, and his fingers on her neck didn’t find a pulse.  What they did find was slobber.  Thick and slimy, it covered her skin, and the leather thong necklace that was pulled tight against her throat.  As he loosened the thong, slime burned his fingers, but Brian ignored it and started CPR.  More slime attacked his hands as he began the compressions, but Brian was focused.  Thirty compressions down, he tilted the woman’s head back and put his mouth against hers, forcing air into her.  Slimy mucous burned his lips, but he brushed it away with his sleeve and went back to work.  The police arrived, but he kept on task. Brian was on his third set of compressions when the woman beneath him coughed and began to breath.  Rolling her to her side, Brian looked at her fully for the first time, recognition hitting him hard. Lacey: The last patient in his fellowship rotation.  As the medics rolled in, he found himself pulled away for treatment and questioning, but the question remained. How did one girl find herself in the same unbelievable situation twice in as many days?

December 8th

It was three in the morning when the investigating officer dropped Brian off at his flat. Exhaustion vied with anxiety as he let himself in.  Despite the fact that he had showered at the hospital, Brian still felt grimy.  And confused. None of what had happened made sense.  His rational mind could put it down to an animal attack.  Tragic.  Disgusting. Rational.  But his heart knew that something else, something more sinister was afoot.  Animals didn’t strangle women with their own necklaces.  Lacey had been strangled.  Animals didn’t attack storefront Santas and good-intentioned doctors without reason, nor did they normally run away when the authorities arrived.  Neither did animals excrete drool that ate through both skin and cloth, yet Brian stood as proof that something did.

Stripping off the scrubs that had replaced his destroyed—and evidence bound—clothing, Brian stepped into his shower.  The hot water stung as it hit the drool-damaged skin on his hands, knees and face.  Drying off, he rinsed his blistered lips with the anesthetic wash prescribed by the emergency doctor who had treated him.  Neither the wash nor the lotion prescribed seemed to alleviate his discomfort, but Brian was too tired to care.  He glanced at the bottle of antibiotic pills and decided it would take to much effort to remove the childproof cap.  Instead, he crawled into his bed, pulled the coverlet over his head, and lost himself to dreamless sleep.

It was nearly four in the afternoon when Brian woke.  Stretching, he took note of each ache and pain.  There seemed to be a lot of them.  He felt feverish and groggy.  Really feverish and groggy.  Rolling out of his bed, a wave of dizziness hit him and he grabbed for the wall. His palm slapped the surface and a different sensation shot up his arm.  Brian brought his hand to his face.  The blistery burns from the night before were gone, the skin barely pink and a little itchy. He scratched absently at the skin, recoiling at the pain his nails caused. He looked curiously at his nails.  They seemed…swollen, the nails loose, as if there was fluid between them and the nail bed.

  Staggering to the bathroom, he turned on the faucet and splashed his face with cold water.  Looking in the mirror, Brian was shocked. His face looked almost…normal.  His dark eyes were red-rimmed, and his wavy dark hair was sticking out every which way, but the blisters around and inside his mouth were gone, nothing remaining but a faint pinkness that faded into his feverish flush.  “Not possible,” he rasped out loud.

Brian patted his face dry, more gently than normal because his face felt…different.  His skin was ultra sensitive to touch.  Reaching into the medicine cabinet, he pulled out a bottle of acetaminophen and dry swallowed two of the tablets before heading to his kitchen.  His empty kitchen.  With a mumbled curse, Brian searched the cupboards, knowing that he would find very little.  He looked disparagingly at the moldy orange on the counter and the inch of milk in the bottle staring back at him from the refrigerator. With a sigh, he thought of his lost groceries.  There was no choice: he would need to go back to Sainsbury’s.

Half an hour later, Brian was dressed and waiting for the cab he had called.  His clothes rested uneasily against his skin, and he fought the urge to squirm.  He was still warmer than normal, but the dizziness had faded, and he no longer felt like the living dead.  Instead, he looked as if he were nursing the mother of all hangovers.

The cab pulled up to Sainsbury’s, and Brian asked him to wait.  The meter was still running, so he hurried through the aisles picking his fruits and vegetables with more haste than care.  There was a line at the meat counter, so Brian bypassed the crowd and stepped up to the poultry counter.  With a whole chicken in his trolley, he grabbed a prepackaged pound of ground beef and another of sausage.  Making his way down the snack aisle, he pulled down some tea, coffee and juice.  Adding some lunchmeat, tins of soup and a package of biscuits, he rushed to the front to pay.

As fate would have it, the clerk was the same one who had bagged his groceries the night before.  “Hey, Doc!” she said, as she rang up his purchases.  “Back so soon?”

Brian smiled weakly.  “There was a little incident last night,” he explained. “My groceries ended up being sacrificed for the greater good.”

“You were part of that?” she asked, eyes wide.  “I heard it was bloody awful.  A wolf ate Santa!”

“It was definitely bloody,” Brian said, averting his eyes.  “Santa was already gone when I got there.”

“I’m sorry,” she said.  “I didn’t mean to make you relive it.  I knew him a little.  Ferdinand Terry.  He was a nice enough guy.”  She handed him his receipt.  “You have a good night, Doc.”

“Thank you,” Brian said, picking up his bags.  He was beginning to feel feverish again.  “I just hope it’s less eventful than the last.”

The cab ride home was quick and fairly painless.  The moon was rising as he paid the driver and made his way up to his flat.  There was a new ache between his shoulder blades, and he shrugged his shoulders, trying to ease his discomfort.  Setting aside his paper wrapped roasting chicken he busied himself with putting away the rest of his supplies. As he slid his fresh milk into the refrigerator, a stabbing pain took away his breath.  It seemed to come from every muscle in his body.  He managed to shut the door before the pain drove him to his knees.

Struggling for breath, Brian tried to crawl to the telephone to call for help.  Each nerve seemed to be on fire, sending excruciating impulses the length of his body.  Brian watched in horror as the bones in his hand cracked and elongated, hair sprouting from places no hair had a right to be, his nails thickening and extending into claws.  He opened his mouth to scream, but all that emerged was a mournful howl. Eyes burning, he looked out his window at the glowing moon.  All of his senses were running hot.  He swore he could hear his neighbors breathing through the wall, and the smell!  God help him, he could smell meat and sweat, and he was suddenly so very, very ravenously hungry.

Brian howled again, smells and sounds assaulting his overly sensitive being.  He didn’t understand, couldn’t comprehend.  He could only feel—and most of what he felt was indescribable.  He could feel his blood coursing through his veins and hear it as it ran through the ventricles of his heart.  He could feel his bones transforming within his body, even as his organs compressed. The electricity running through the walls surged and sparked, and Brian felt each arch. He tried to move, and found himself on four legs instead of two.  Panicked, his heart rate increased, each beat echoing in his ears. As another wave of pain rolled over him, he gave in to the sensations, and knew no more.

December 9th

6:30 a.m.

Brian woke up in the fetal position behind the sofa, naked in a puddle of drool.  With a groan, he pulled himself up and looked around, trying to assess his situation.  Sunlight streamed through curtains that looked as if a deranged cat had attacked them.  The rod was broken on one side, the cloth hanging in strips. As he rose painfully to his feet, trying to work out the crimps and cramps from his muscles, he suddenly noticed his unclothed state. “What the…?”  Blinking rapidly, he scanned his surroundings. His second-hand brown corduroy sofa was covered in fur, and one of the gold throw pillows looked as if it had been ripped apart by a crocodile, stuffing littering the floor and furniture. Butcher paper scraps drew his attention to the mess on the floor—and what a mess it was! The roasting chicken was obviously no more.  Brian stepped forward and his foot landed on the gnawed remains of its leg. “Uhgh!” he sputtered, picking it up with two fingers. 

As he moved toward the kitchen space he saw the shredded remains of the khakis and polo he’d been wearing the night before.  Sitting in the middle was a pile of… “Ahh crap!” Brian muttered, wincing at the sight.  “Good Lord!  What the hell happened here?”  He strained his brain, trying to remember.  All that came to him was the memory of pain as his body cramped and…changed.  Rubbing his chin, he grimaced at the amount of hair he encountered.  He had nearly a three-days growth of beard.  Shaking his head, he stepped over the mess and into the kitchen, dropping the chicken remains into the trash.  Reaching for a roll of paper towels, he became aware of a pungent odor that was not coming from the mess on the floor.  It smelled feral and musky, and to his chagrin, Brian realized it was coming from his body.  A shower was definitely going to be a priority—but not until he had done some cleaning.  There was no point in cleaning himself and still having to face the disaster that had befallen his living space.  Grabbing a pair of rubber gloves and a trash bag, he prepared to clean.  Passing his potted lemon tree—a housewarming gift from the Fellowship committee at King’s—his bare foot landed in another puddle.  “No. No. No.” Brian groaned.  “Why do I think this one’s not drool? Damn it!”  Swiping his foot with a paper towel, he raised his eyes to the roof and asked again, “What the hell happened?”

Three hours later, the flat was set to rights and Brian was once again clean-shaven and smelling human.  Dressing in jeans and a long sleeved t-shirt, he retrieved his laptop from the second bedroom, sat down on his freshly vacuumed sofa and began tying to figure out what had happened to him.

An hour later, he fixed himself a turkey sandwich and studied the information he had gathered.  Brian Belden was a scientist.  A man of logic and rationality, yet nothing on the screen before him was logical.  “There has to be an explanation,” he muttered.  “I am not crazy!  I won’t be crazy.”

Grabbing his coat, he headed purposefully out the door towards King’s College Hospital.

Brian hesitated outside the entrance to the hospital.  No matter how he felt inside, he had to be calm and rational—at least in his dealings with the hospital personnel.  What he was planning was sketchy at best when it came to ethics.  He had to at least give the appearance of normality.

“Dr. Belden,” charge nurse Claire Newton said, acknowledging his presence with a smile.  “What brings you back to King’s?  Miss us already, do you?”

“More than I can tell you,” Brian told her, with just a hint of a flirtatious smile. “But, in truth, I’m here to check some lab results.”

“Oh!  The toxic drool.” Her eyes darkened.  “That was an odd occurrence, wasn’t it?”

“It was,” Brian admitted. “I thought I’d stop by and check the results.  I’ve family arriving tomorrow, and if I was exposed to anything…” he left the statement dangle.

“You definitely need to know,” Nurse Claire finished for him.  “Do you still have your i.d. card?”  Brian held it up for her to see.  “You can use exam three to access the files.  It’s empty and clean—for the time being.”

“Thank you, Claire,” Brian told her sincerely.  “I’ll be quick.”  He took himself to exam three and closed the curtain behind him.  Inserting his i.d. card into the computer, he accessed the medical records system.  Calling up his personal file, he scanned the testing results from the drool.  No rabies.  That was a relief, but there was an odd bacteria showing.  It had been sent off for additional testing, and there was a note to call the patient—Brian—and recommend a blood draw and broad-spectrum antibiotics.  Brian thought about his unused prescription, and gave himself a mental head slap.  Then, casting a furtive glance over his shoulder, he accessed a different file, scribbling down an address on the back of a bandage wrapper.  Logging off the computer, he pocketed his card and his wrapper, thanked Nurse Claire, and continued on his quest.

It was half past two when Brian knocked on the dark green door of the second floor flat.  He shifted a little impatiently, his eyes drawn to the symbol painted above the peephole. It was painted a shade lighter than the door, a backwards capital N with a vertical line bisecting it.  Brian was drawn to the symbol, but he didn’t know why.  Shaking his head, he knocked again—harder this time.

The door opened a crack, and a dark brown eye peered out at him.  With an audible sigh, the door shut again, and Brian heard the sound of chain locks sliding open.  The door opened fully, revealing a sloe-eyed beauty of a young woman in jeans and a t-shirt.  She frowned, her nose wrinkling slightly.  Stepping back, she gestured for him to enter.  Brian did.  As the door closed behind him, he finally spoke, “Hello, Lacey.”

She made him tea, taking an inordinate amount of time arranging biscuits on the tray before joining him in her miniscule living room.  He sat on the deep green velvet sofa, while she perched on the edge of a sage colored wing chair.  They both observed the niceties of preparation, but after the first sip, Brian decided to get down to business.  “I need you to tell me what is happening,” he said.  “I need to know what that…thing was, and what it’s done to me.  You know, don’t you?”

She sighed.  “You won’t believe me.”  He long fingers toyed with the copper symbol dangling from the leather thong around her neck.

He laughed, a sharp and bitter sound in the stillness of the room.  “Believe me, Lacey,” he said, “I will.  After what happened last night, I think I’d believe anything.”

“You transformed,” she said quietly, picking up her cup and sipping thoughtfully.  “I thought I smelled it on you.”

“What?” Brian asked, surreptitiously sniffing himself.

“Your wolf.”  Setting her teacup aside, Lacey leaned forward, her gaze steady. “If I allow myself, I can sense him inside you.”

“How did he get inside of me?” Brian asked, trying to keep his mind open. 

“From the werewolf who attacked me,” she told him.  “I am so very sorry.”

“I still don’t understand,” Brian told her, “I wasn’t bitten by the wolf.”

“Of course not,” Lacey said.  She shook her head and smiled.  “Seriously, Brian, how many people survive a werewolf’s bite? It’s the saliva that does the damage.  The saliva contains bacterium that causes a mutation in the blood.  The medics tell me you saved my life by giving me CPR.  I really wish you hadn’t done that.”

“You weren’t breathing, Lacey,” Brian said in disbelief.  “Would you really prefer I had let you die?”

“I wouldn’t have died,” she explained.  “My body regenerates quite quickly—as long as my head remains attached and my heart resides within it.”  She leaned forward again, pointing to her neck.  “Look.” 

Brian allowed his eyes to search the unblemished white skin from chin to collarbone.  “That’s impossible,” he whispered. “I saw what your necklace did.  The leather was imbedded in your skin.  There was blood.”

“I know.”  Lacey turned so he could see her arm.  Once again, Brian found himself staring.  Where he remembered stitching through her skin, no trace remained.  Looking closer, he saw the barest hint of three lines half a shade lighter than the rest of her skin.

“No,” he said, shaking his head.  “It isn’t humanly possible.  No one heals that quickly.”

“You did,” Lacey told him.  “You touched me when I was covered with his saliva.  You had to.  It’s corrosive, and you would have been burned—probably blistered.  Am I right?”  Brian nodded, unable to find his voice.  She continued, “I don’t see any blisters or burns.  Do I?”

“That’s how it got in, isn’t it?” Brian asked her.  “The mutation.  It got in through the burns, didn’t it?  Like an infection.”

“Yes,” Lacey admitted, “I’m so sorry.”

“I still don’t understand,” he said.

“What don’t you understand?” she asked.

“I don’t understand how you know all of this, yet nothing that…creature…did affected you like it did me.  Why didn’t it kill you?  Why didn’t it…change…you?”

“Isn’t it obvious, Brian?”  Lacey asked.  “He didn’t kill me because he wants me.  He couldn’t change me because I am already a werewolf.”

Brian was stunned.  It made a sort of strange sense in a world that made no sense at all.  “So you’re a…you can…you…” he stammered.

“For lack of a better term,” she said drily, ”I am a werewolf.  My preferred term is shifter or shape shifter, but people tend to fixate on the wolf portion.”

“I can’t imagine why,” Brian managed to say.  “How did you…get changed?”

“I didn’t,” she told him.  “I was born this way.  Most of us were born this way.  Although it’s acceptable to change someone who is willing, involuntary transformation—like yours—is really frowned upon.”

“Born?”  Brian shook his head.  “You make it sound like it’s normal.”

“It is normal.  At least for us.”  Lacey sighed and reached for her tea.  Draining the cup she tried to explain, “You’re a doctor, right?”  Brian nodded, not sure where she was taking the conversation.  “So,” she continued, “you know about genes and such, right?”  Again he nodded.  “Well, just like some people have a gene for blue eyes, or for red hair, some of us have the shifter gene.  It’s a mutation.  A genetic mutation.”

“More like cystic fibrosis,” he muttered.

“It isn’t a disease!” she protested.  “It’s a…”

“Genetic mutation,” Brian sneered.  “I get it.  But most genetic mutations don’t turn normal people into flesh eating killers.”

“That’s not fair!”  Lacey stood up and began pacing.  “I control my wolf.  99 percent of us control our wolves.  We don’t kill people.  He is a renegade.  An outcast.”

“Your outcast killed two men in the last five days,” Brian pointed out.

“Yes,” she countered.  “And Peter Sutcliffe killed 13 in five years.  He wasn’t a shifter.  He was just a deranged human.”

“Point taken.”  Brian conceded the serial killer concept.  “But how do I fix it?”

“You can’t fix it.  It just is.”  Lacey reached for his hands, her grip surprisingly strong as she kneeled in front of him.  “Look, sometimes antibiotics work against the bacteria.  But once you’ve transformed, it’s too late.  You can’t go back…”

Brian rose abruptly, yanking his hands free.  “No. No. No!” he said emphatically, trying to quell the panic inside him.  “This can’t happen.  Not now.  My family is coming in tomorrow.  This can’t happen!  I will not let it!”  Anger was overwhelming the panic, and Brian felt his temperature rise, heating his blood.  Muscles began rippling, his skin felt too tight, too sensitive, and his senses heightened. As his blood rushed and whooshed in his ears, he saw red, smelled flesh, and suddenly became aware of Lacey moving into his line of vision, hands outstretched.

“Breathe, Brian!” she insisted.  “Calm down.  You’re changing.  Breathe through it.  In.  Out.”

She was right, Brian realized, looking in horror at his hands as they stretched.  No.  Not this time, he thought. He struggled to breathe deeply, trying to calm his emotions, still his rapidly beating heart.  Air in.  Air out.  Over and over he silently repeated the mantra, keeping his eyes on Lacey’s tense face.  Slowly, he became aware of his surroundings.  His body tensed and relaxed, his temperature dropping as he regained control of himself.

Shaking with fear and exhaustion, he collapsed on the rug, panting as if he had just finished a marathon. Moving slowly, Lacey disappeared for a moment, returning with a soft blanket and a damp cloth.  “Shhhh,” she soothed, draping the blanket around his shoulders and placing the cloth on the back of his neck.  “Just remember to breathe.  You did well.”

“Well?” Brian looked at her in shock.  “That was well?”

“That was amazingly well,” she assured him.  “It takes a great deal of self-discipline to control the wolf when you get emotional.  Most of us need years of practice.”

“It didn’t…hurt,” he mused, wondering at the new fact.  “It wasn’t comfortable, but last night was horrible.”

“It gets easier,” Lacey said, joining him on the floor.  “I haven’t been around many reborns, but from my experience—both personal and from observing my family, the first time is the hardest.  Everything has to change and reform.  It hurts.”

“It was agony,” Brian admitted, “and messy.”

She laughed.  “Yes, I can remember.  It’s only been five years since my first time.  Now I know to visit the loo before turning.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he answered drily.  “So, you were fourteen?”

“Yes.  We usually come into our wolf-self during puberty.  It takes several years to reach maturity and control.”  She smiled at him.  “Our families tend to home school us until we learn to coexist with our two halves.”

“I don’t want it,” Brian said, feeling tears pressing behind his eyes.  “I have my life planned out.  I’m getting married in six months.  I’ve been asked to fill a position at my hometown hospital.  I don’t want to coexist.  I just want to live.” He covered his eyes with his hand, concentrating on breathing.

He felt her arms around him, her chin resting on his head.  “I can help you, Brian,” Lacey whispered.  “Let me help you.  Please?”

Feeling he had nothing left to lose, Brian nodded his agreement.

December 10th

4:26 p.m.

A little anxious, Brian waited at the luggage carousel.  He caught himself chewing on his lower lip and clenched his teeth to stop.  Normal, he told himself, leaning back against a pillar, trying to stay relaxed.  Think normal. Be normal. A rush of travelers rounded the corner and his eyes were drawn to a shock of red hair.  Brian’s teeth unclenched as a smile spread across his face at the sight of not one, but six precious faces.  They hadn’t seen him yet, and he took a moment to simply watch them.

His brother, Mart, his blond hair tousled from the long flight walked hand in hand with his wife of nearly a year, Diana.  Mart was carrying Di’s bag as well as his, but by the besotted look on his face, he didn’t mind at all.  “Some things never change,” Brian whispered to himself. His sister-in-law looked as perfectly put together as ever, her long dark hair pulled back in a ponytail that made her look much younger than her 24 years.

Behind the newlyweds, red headed Jim Frayne strolled with confidence his arm draped protectively over the shoulders of Trixie, Brian’s sister.  Trixie’s blond curls were as tousled as Mart’s, but her blue eyes sparkled even from across the room, as she surveyed the area, looking for Brian.

But it was the couple behind Jim and Trixie that made Brian’s heart beat faster.  Dan Mangan, his dark eyes sweeping the area with the cool, assessing gaze of the cop he’d been for the last four years, spotted Brian first.  Reaching out, he tapped the arm of the woman next to him, directing her attention to his find.

Honey Wheeler turned, her hazel eyes luminous in her beautiful face.  Spying Brian, she smiled, lighting up the entire baggage claim area, and driving Brian from his post.  His eyes on his fiancée, Brian had only taken four steps in her direction when Honey dropped her carry-on bag and ran toward him.  She was in his arms in an instant, and for one brief moment, all was right in his world.

“Okay!  Break it up!” Trixie’s voice broke the spell, and Brian reluctantly released his girl, snatching one last kiss before turning to the rest.  “I want a turn!” Trixie finished, throwing her arms around her big brother.

“Hey!  There’s enough of me to go around,” Brian joked, hugging the more patient Diana next.  As he exchanged more manly hugs with Mart, Dan and Jim, the carousel began to spew luggage.  “Let’s get your bags and head to my flat,” Brian suggested.  “I haven’t bought much in the way of groceries, yet, but I thought we could have dinner at the pub down the street from my place make a list of things you want to see.”

“That sounds good to me,” Mart said.  “I’m starving.”

“It’s not even lunch time at home, yet,” Jim pointed out, “and we did eat on the plane.”

“Meager portions,” Mart protested.

“True,” Dan pointed out.  “The portions were small, but you ate half of Di’s, and you stole my cookie.”

“Hey!  You weren’t eating it.”

“I got up to go to the bathroom!”

“And stayed to flirt with the flight attendant.  I figured you didn’t want it.”

“You could have asked.”

“You weren’t there.  I was hungry.”

Jim just shook his head at their antics, shooting Brian a grin as he reached for a purple suitcase that could only belong to Diana.  Brian laughed and hugged both Honey and Trixie. “I have missed you all so much!” he said, turning to take the suitcase Jim handed him.  “More than you could ever know.”

Dinner had been fun.  Eating “pub grub” at the Blue Briar Pub had been a time of chatter and laughter over steak and ale pie, toad in the hole and—much to Dan’s delight—double drawn draught Guinness, had been a grown-up British version of old times at Wimpy’s.  Brian had admired the reset diamond his sister now wore on the ring finger of her left hand, and laughed heartily as she related the tale of how Jim had hidden it in a bowl of potato chips at the Belden family Thanksgiving open house.

“Fortunately, he put it in a paper bowl and not the big glass one,” Trixie said with a giggle. 

“Well,” Jim answered, tugging on one of her curls, “I couldn’t risk Mart or Mr. Lytell accidentally eating it.”

“Hey!” Mart cried.  “I resemble that remark.”

“Indeed you do, husband,” Diana told him, leaning her head on his shoulder.  “Indeed you do.”

“So now you can have the double wedding you always wanted,” Dan joked, drawing a frosty glare from one Miss Madeleine “Honey” Wheeler.

“Hardly!” she said.  “Brian and I already have a date, a venue, and the save-the-date cards have been sent.”  She looked up at her fiancé with adoring eyes. “Once we get home we’ll decide on the menu, music and cake.”

“Besides,” Trixie added with a toss of her head, “Jim and I don’t want a society wedding.  We’re going to get married in the preserve.  In the autumn.”

“Small and intimate,” Jim agreed, “Although I had to promise Mother a large reception following.”

“More presents,” Mart pointed out.

“More thank you notes,” Diana countered.  And so it went.

The seven Bob-Whites walked happily back to Brian’s flat, none of them noticing Brian glancing nervously at the rising moon.  Once inside, they set up the sleeping arrangements.  Mart and Diana would sleep in Brian’s room, while Trixie and Honey would share the bed in the second bedroom.  The three air mattresses were inflated and set up in the alcove Brian used as his office.  There was just enough room for Jim, Dan and Brian, although Jim complained good-naturedly that his feet were hanging out into the hallway, causing a traffic hazard.

It was half past seven, and Diana was already yawning.  “I’m sorry,” she said.  “With all the packing and prepping, I haven’t had a lot of sleep.  Would you mind if I go to bed?”

“Not at all,” Brian told her.  “In fact, I have to go to the hospital tonight.”

“I thought you were finished,” Honey said, her forehead wrinkling.  “Didn’t the fellowship end a few days ago?”

“It did,” Brian agreed.  “Unfortunately, I let myself be roped into a project.  I hope to be finished in a few days, and it shouldn’t interfere with our sightseeing plans.  I’ll just go in for a few hours after dinner.”  He kissed her forehead.  “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she said with a smile.  “I know about the doctor lifestyle.  You go.”  She stifled a yawn.  “I think I’ll turn in, too.”  Reaching up, she pulled him down for a long kiss.  “Don’t work too hard,” she told him.

“I’ll try not to,” he agreed.  Turning to the others, he asked, “Will you guys be ok?”

“Does the television work?” Jim asked.

“More importantly, does it have a remote?” Dan inquired, flopping down on the sofa.

“Yes to both questions,” Brian answered, pulling the remote control out of the end table drawer and tossing it to Dan.

“Well, I’m going to bed,” Mart said loudly, a mischievous look in his eyes.  “I hear there’s a beautiful woman in there.”  He slapped his brother on the back and headed down the hall.

“Well. Goodnight, then,” Brian said, putting on his coat, but not buttoning it.  He closed the door behind him and leaned against it, concentrating on breathing.  He could feel the pull of the waxing moon calling to him, calling to the mutated cells in his blood.  He wanted to ignore it, but the siren song was strong.  He would not put those he loved at risk. Focusing hard, he headed out into the night.

December 14th

Dan was…concerned.  Or maybe a better word would be suspicious. Either way, something was definitely up with Brian.  He was fine—mostly—during the day.  Maybe a little quieter than usual, but Brian had always been the serious, dependable one.  Reunited, the Bob-Whites resumed their easy camaraderie as if only days had passed instead of months.  The first full day they had spent touring the Tower of London.  It had been amusing, since Honey, Mart and Trixie had regaled them with tales of their previous teenage Tower adventure. 

The second day had been spent in the Tate Modern.  While he had joked that they were only visiting the museum to keep Mart’s marriage on track, Dan had, nonetheless, enjoyed more of the exhibits in the old converted power station than he had expected.  Not to mention the incredible view of the Thames, and an extremely attractive waitress in the gallery restaurant where they had eaten lunch.

The third day, they had taken advantage of the weather—which was cold, but dry—and visited Trafalgar Square and the National Gallery, followed by shopping around Piccadilly Circus.  Dan chuckled to himself as he remembered Mart’s reaction to the statue of Eros.

Today they were headed to Madame Tussauds to see which wax celebrities had joined the museum since the Belden-Wheeler Detective Agency’s last visit--or to see the place for the first time, in the case of Dan, Jim, Brian and Di.  Dan was looking forward to the trip, but he planned to keep a close eye on Brian.

Each night, right after dinner, Brian had disappeared to work on his “project”.  That was what had Dan scratching his head.  The first night, Brian had left the apartment a little before eight. Both Jim and Dan, never ones to sleep deeply in unfamiliar surroundings had awakened at the sound of the key in the lock at half past two.  Neither knew why they both remained silent, but they had.  Brian had stumbled a little coming through the door, and breathing heavily, had headed straight for the bathroom and the shower.  Twenty minutes later, Brian crawled into his sleeping bag and went to sleep.  The pattern continued the second night as well as the third—on which he opted out of attending the theatre--and Dan was curious as to how tonight would play out.

“Cab’s here, Dan,” Jim said, tapping him on the shoulder.  You ready?  Brian and the girls went ahead, so it’s just you, Mart and I in this one.”

“Yeah, sure,” Dan said, pulling on his coat. “Hey, Jim?” he asked, “Have you noticed anything weird about Brian?”

Jim scowled, his green eyes narrowing.  “I’m not sure.  Are you talking about the way he blew off my sister—his fiancée—last night when she suggested they go see a show?  Or about how he abandons all of us at sundown and doesn’t return until dark-o-thirty in the morning?  Or maybe you mean the way Mr.-Shower-In-the-Morning-so-I can-wake-up staggers into the flat like a drunken sailor and takes a twenty-minute shower so hot the steam doesn’t dissipate until sunrise?  Is that what you’re asking?”

“That just about covers it,” Dan replied drily.  “I guess I’m not the only one who noticed.”

“No,” Jim said, his tone a little ominous.  “Trixie’s noticed, and I guarantee that Honey has noticed.  Right now, I think she’s trying to ignore the situation, but it’s hurting her a lot more than she will let on.”

“What about Mart?” Dan asked.  “I wanted to ask him, but Brian is his brother…”

“Despite Mart making googly eyes at his lovely wife,” Jim answered, ”I’d be willing to guess he’s noticed Brian’s odd behavior, too.”  He opened the door and followed Dan into the hall.  “The better question is ‘what is causing it?’”

“If it were anyone but Brian,” Dan said, as they reached the cab, “I think it was drugs or another woman.  Maybe both.  But Brian?”  He shrugged and slid into the car. 

As Jim closed the door, Mart remarked, “I suppose you’re talking about my big brother and his very odd behavior.  The question is; what are we going to do about it?”

They arrived outside Brian’s flat at seven.  Dan clapped Brian on the shoulder and addressed the group.  “Much as I love you guys,” he said with a grin, “I’m tired of being the third wheel--or, rather, the seventh wheel.  I’m going to hit the pub for a while.  Can I borrow a key, Bri?”

“Yeah.  Sure,” Brian said.  “I have an extra in the drawer of my desk.  I’ll get it for you.  I’ve got to be going myself.”

“Tonight?”  Honey’s voice was quiet, but the look in her eyes spoke of her disappointment.  “I was hoping we could spend some time together.”

“We’ve been together all day,” Brian pointed out.

“I meant time together, just the two of us,” Honey clarified. “You and me.”

He cupped her chin.  “Soon,” he said softly.  “I promise.  I just need to get this…project…under control.  A few more days, that’s all.”  He bent to kiss her, and nothing more was said about the matter.

Once upstairs, Dan got the key from Brian, grabbed his pack and headed out.  At the end of the block, he called for a cab.  When it arrived, he confused the driver by asking him to wait, the car idling.  A short time later, a second cab pulled up in front of Brian’s building.  Brian climbed in, and Dan leaned forward and instructed, “Follow that cab.”

The driver gave him a disbelieving look, but the sight of cash in his fare’s hand quickly changed his mind, and he pulled out after Brian’s cab, keeping a respectable distance.  Less than ten blocks passed when the first cab pulled up in front of a stone building.  Dan directed his driver to drive around the block, pulling around to park on the opposite side of the street.  From his pack he pulled the binoculars he and Jim had purchased earlier in the day.

The driver looked at him a little incredulously.  “Are you a spy?” he asked.

“No,” Dan answered, adjusting the binoculars and focusing in on Brian.  “I’m an undercover cop.”  He pulled out his wallet with one hand and flashed his badge.

“A copper?  Really?”  The driver seemed quite excited by this news.  “But you’re an American.”

“So is he,” Dan remarked, watching as Brian knocked on a door on the second floor.  The door opened, and he caught his breath.  The girl on the other side was beautiful—even from a distance.  Dark hair, slender and delicate looking, but definitely stacked.  She smiled at Brian as he stepped inside, and Dan had to swallow hard to clear his mouth of drool.

“What’d he do?” the cabby asked in a whisper, breaking Dan’s concentration.  Not that there was much to see.  Through the single window to the side, he saw Brian fingering the buttons on his shirt, and then the girl closed the curtains.

“Philanderer,” Dan said bitterly, refocusing his attention.  “Maybe.  Is this a decent neighborhood?”

“Mostly college students,” the driver told him.

“Any drug problems?”

The driver snorted.  “Ain’t there always when it’s a college?” he asked.  Shaking his head, he continued, “This is the better side.  If that bloke of yours was looking to score, he’d have more luck on the west end.”

“Good to know,” Dan said.  “Thanks.”

“No worries,” the driver told him.  “Besides, I’ve driven him the last two days.  He comes here, stays a few hours, and leaves.  He lives in that building where the cab picked him up.”

“You drove him?”  Dan couldn’t believe his luck.  “Seriously?”

“Well, not both ways,” the cabby amended, “I picked him up from here the first time.  I brought him here the second.”

“How did he act?” Dan asked.

“Tired, the first night,” came the reply.  “Like he was sick or something.  Shaky, sweaty…hey!  Maybe he is doing drugs up there.”

“Maybe.”  Dan was trying to work the information through his head.  “How was he the second time?”

“Quiet.  Seemed a little sad.  Didn’t say much, but he tipped real good.”

“I tip better,” Dan said, pulling bills out of his wallet.  “But this never happened, right?”

The man’s eyes lit up as he snatched the cash.  “I don’t know what you’re talking about sir,” he said.

“Good.”  Dan opened the door and stepped out of the cab.  As the driver pulled away, Dan started walking back to Brian’s flat, dialing his cell phone as he went.  When he made contact, he was succinct.  “Meet me at the pub. Tell the girls I need my wingmen.”

They met at a table in the back of the Blue Briar.  Jim and Mart beat Dan to the pub by just enough time to order three pints of Guinness.  Sliding into the booth, Dan took a long draw from his glass before addressing the question in his friends’ eyes.  “Well,” he said, “Brian is definitely not at the hospital.”

“Damn!” Mart muttered, his shoulders drooping.  Beside him, Jim visibly tensed, his fingers tightening around his glass.

“Where?” he asked.  “Where did he go?”

“An apartment about ten blocks away from here,” Dan replied.  “From what I could see, the only other occupant was a young woman.  Gorgeous girl.  Kind of like Audrey Hepburn with boobs.”

Jim muttered a curse under his breath, and Mart just shook his head.  “Brian is the last person I would think of if you asked me about cheating,” he said.  “I mean I grew up with him.  He doesn’t cheat.”

Jim looked up, his face white, his eyes bleak.  “We’re talking about my best friend, my roommate for six years, my fiancée’s brother, my sister’s fiancé.  What the hell happened to him over here?”

Dan took a deep breath.  “According to the cabby I talked to, I can confirm that Brian visited this apartment three times in the last four days.  According to him, Brian was quiet and depressed on the way there, sick and shaky on the way home.”

“Drugs?” Mart asked, shaking his head again.  “It just doesn’t make sense.  Brian is…he isn’t like that.”

“Normally, I’d agree,” Dan told him.  “But there is definitely something going on.”

“You have a plan, don’t you?” Jim asked.  “I know that look.”

Dan smiled tightly. “If Brian is screwing around on Honey, I’ll beat the crap out of him myself.  But until I know for sure, I’m willing to give him the benefit of the doubt.  So…” he looked around the pub.  “I think I’m going to meet someone tonight.  And I think that tomorrow, I’m going to spend my day with that someone—or another mystery woman—rather than tour another art museum.”

“So you’re going to follow Brian’s…friend?” Mart asked.

Dan nodded, and took another long drink.  “And, depending on what I find out, tomorrow night Doctor Brian might have some company at his love nest.”  He looked around the room again.  “I’m thinking the red-head in the purple dress.  Memorize her, boys, and make it sound promising when you tell the girls.”

Dan definitely smelled like he’d been having a good time when he rolled into the flat just past midnight.  Trixie sniffed him on her way to the bedroom.  “Good Lord, Danny!” she exclaimed, “What have you been rolling in?”

“Opium for women is my guess,” Diana said, taking a whiff.  “Mixed with a substantial amount of beer.”

“It’s Guinness, not beer, you blasphemer!” Dan chided with a grin.  “And I don’t know about Opium, but the woman was definitely addictive.”

“What’s her name?” Trixie asked, her blue eyes sparkling.

“Maureen,” Dan answered.  “In fact,” he pulled a napkin out of his pocket.  “I have a date with her tomorrow.”

“You’re bringing her with us to the Victoria and Albert Museum?” Diana asked.

“Uh…no.”  Dan rolled his eyes.  “I’ve had enough art to last me the rest of the trip.  I’m going to spend the day with Maureen, and let her…show me the sights.”

“Ooooh,” the girls said together.

“Where’s Honey?”  Dan asked.

Immediately both Trixie and Di sobered.  “She went to bed early,” Trixie told him.  “I swear if my brother doesn’t stop being such an ass, I might have to kill him.”

Impulsively, Dan pulled both into a hug.  “We’ll figure it out, ladies.  Have a little faith.”  Releasing them, he grinned.  “Why don’t you run off to bed? And I’ll go clean myself up and chase Mart and Jim away from the television.  I’m going for a run in the morning to work off some of the Guinness, so if I don’t see you, have a good time looking at gingerbread trim and watercolors.”

Trixie looked at him suspiciously, but acquiesced with a nod.  “Have fun tomorrow, Danny.  Be careful.”

“Always, Freckles,” he teased, giving her curls a tug and dropping a kiss on Diana’s forehead.  “Goodnight.”

“Sleep tight!” they called out.

And he did--once all seven Bob-Whites were safely inside.

December 15th

Dan was up and out the door at five.  He grabbed a coffee and a crumpet with almond butter and marmalade from a coffee shop and loitered across the street from the mystery woman’s apartment.

When she emerged shortly before nine, he was struck again by how lovely she was.  Today, she wore snug fitting jeans and a yellow sweater with calf length boots.  A light brown coat was draped around her shoulders, and a brown leather satchel grasped in long, slender fingers.

He followed at a reasonable distance, keeping her in sight.  It wasn’t difficult.  The girl walked with quiet determination, focused on her end point.  Her destination ended up being the School of Arts and Humanities on the Kings campus.  Dan watched her enter a classroom, and checked the building for exits.  Confident that she couldn’t leave without him seeing, Dan purchased a second cup of coffee and a newspaper, and found a comfortable place to wait.

She changed classes twice while he waited.  By the time Dan was halfway through his fourth cup of coffee, his stomach was beginning to growl its displeasure.  The door to the classroom opened, and he rose, assuming a distracted air.  As the girl approached, Dan shifted his body so she bumped up against him, knocking his cup from his hand.

“Oh!  I am so sorry!” she said, her clipped accent made all the more charming by the musical tone of her voice.  “Here, let me help you.” 

“I’ve got it,” Dan told her giving her his most guileless and charming smile as he mopped up the spill with his newspaper.  “And I’m the one who should be sorry,” he continued.  “I’m afraid I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

“Obviously, neither was I,” she said, smiling at him.  “I’m Lacey Woods.” 

She held out her hand, and he shook it.  “Liam,” he said, using the name he had decided on while waiting. “Liam Maypenny.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Liam Maypenny,” she said.  “Are you a student here?”

“No,” he told her.  “I’ve been an exchange student at University of Gloucestershire in Cheltenham.  I finished a few days early and decided to visit a friend of mine in London before I head home.” He smiled at her again.  “I’m guessing you are a student here?”

“Second year,” she said.  “Look, can I buy you another coffee?”

“Only if I can buy you lunch,” Dan countered.  “Please?”

Her eyes narrowed, as if she had closed the shutters on them.  Instantly, he adjusted. “Look,” he told her, “I’m not hitting on you—much.  I just thought that we both need to eat, so…”

Her face relaxed.  “Okay.  I’ll buy you a coffee and you can buy me a burger.  Rare.  But I have my next class at two, so we’ll have to make it fast.”

Dan grinned.  “I’m the tourist here,” he reminded her. “Where can I buy you that rare burger?”

She sat at the table while Dan stood in line for their food.  The place wasn’t as noisy as most, and as he approached her, he was able to eavesdrop on her cell phone conversation.

“No, he’s quiet lovely.  Very smart and controlled.”

Dan froze.  Listening to one side of Lacey’s conversation didn’t equal evidence, but it might provide reasonable doubt.

“I know, Mum.  I know.  But I want it so badly…Yes, I realize it’s risky for both of us, but he has a fiancée.  Of course he hasn’t told her.  He hasn’t told anyone…”

Lacey’s shoulders stiffened, and Dan realized she had sensed his presence.  He took three steps forward and slid the tray of food onto the table.  Pretending to just notice she was on the phone, he grinned at her and pressed his finger to his lips as he pulled out his own chair.  As he unwrapped his sandwich and reached for his coffee, she wrapped up her conversation.

“I’ll speak with you later.  My lunch is here, and I only have forty minutes before class.  Yes.  Love you, too.”  She finished her call and slipped her phone in her bag.

“Boyfriend?” Dan asked.

“Worse,” she said, taking a bite of her very rare sandwich.  “Mother.”

“Ahhh,” Dan said with a sympathetic nod.  He waited a moment, and then asked, “Is there a boyfriend?”

Icy silence fell again.  “Not really any of your concern, is it?” she asked.  “Since you’re just passing through, and all.”

Backing off, Dan allowed himself a sheepish grin.  “Force of habit,” he said.  “Gorgeous woman.  Me.  Instinct determines what I say.  Sorry.”  She relaxed slightly, and he continued, “I’ll try to think with my actual brain before I speak, okay?”  She nodded, and he said, “Since I’m a tourist, and not a history or art major, what would you suggest I ‘tour’?”

They spent the next twenty minutes eating and chatting about the sights.

Dinner had been…mildly uncomfortable.  Dan had kept staring at him, all through the meal.  Brian shook his head, trying to shake the picture of Honey’s sad hazel eyes, hating that he was hurting her with his secret.  Still, it was his secret that drove him into the cab and over to Lacey’s flat.

She opened the door with a small smile and ushered him in.  “I spoke with my mother today, Brian,” she said.  “She’s sending my brothers out here to hu…look…for the renegade.  They should arrive tomorrow.  Mum’s still investigating the situation, and she is hopeful she can find…something that can make this right.

“I hope you’re right, Lacey,” Brian said.  “I can’t live like this, afraid to be with my fiancée for fear I might not be able to control myself.  I’d kill myself if I hurt her.”

“Technically, that would be difficult,” she reminded him.  “I think I’ve proven that.  But I understand what you’re saying.  Why don’t we get ready?”

Brian sighed.  “We should.  The faster I learn this, the better things will be, right?”

“Right.”  Brian headed into her bathroom, and Lacey busied herself setting the stage for their exercise.  She was in the middle of arranging the furniture when she was interrupted by a knock on the door.

She looked through the peephole and gasped.  Opening the door, she stared at the man whom she had met earlier.  “Liam?  What are you doing here?”

“The name’s Dan, actually,” he told her, “and I’m here for Brian.”

“Brian?”

“Yes,” he said.  “Brian.  American? About six feet tall, dark hair?  A doctor.  A doctor engaged to be married to a woman I consider my sister.  Do you know him?”

“I…I…” Lacey looked around the room.  The bathroom door opened, and Brian walked out, clad in a pair of boxer shorts, his shirt unbuttoned.

“Dan!  What are you doing here?”  Brian looked down at his lack of clothing, desperately trying to form a plausible explanation.

“I followed you,” Dan told him, anger obvious in every syllable and motion issuing from his body.  “For the last few days.  I knew something was up.  We all did, but this?”  He moved forward, glaring.  “How could you, Brian?  How could you cheat on Honey?”

Brian felt his shock turning to anger.  “I’m not cheating on Honey.  I love Honey!”

“You love her so much you’re standing here, in this chick’s apartment, in your underwear?”  Dan shook his head, his hands balling into fists.  “If that’s your idea of love, I think it sucks!”

The anger was turning to rage.  How dare Dan be so judgmental?  Brian felt his senses fire up, muscles stretching, his emotions running hotter than before.  “You don’t understand,” he spat.  “I’m trying to protect her.”

“Which her?” Dan taunted, a sneer on his handsome face.  “Honey? Or your…piece…on the side?”

“Gentlemen,” Lacey said, trying to intervene.

“Shut the hell up!” Dan snapped at her.  “This is between us!”

Brian saw red.  “This is her place!” he snarled.  “She’s trying to help me.  You will…not…talk…to her…like…that!”  The change was happening.  He felt his body contort, and this time he let his rage and frustration drive the transformation.

Dan suddenly noticed what was happening to his friend.  Taking a step back, he watched with astonishment as Brian’s clothes shredded, and his form changed.  Astonishment turned quickly to disbelief and horror as, where Brian had been a large, dark brown wolf now crouched.

Brian was aware that he was in the wolf.  It gave him a modicum of intense pleasure to watch Dan’s reaction, to smell the sudden, sharp odor of fear oozing from his pores.  Growling low in his throat, he let the wolf prepare to pounce.  The smell of fear, the sound of the blood coursing through his prey’s veins, the increasing beat of Dan’s heart—it was addictive, and Brian’s wolf wanted more.

“Stop!”

The voice, sweet and strong echoed in his mind, not in his ears. Swinging his head, he saw that Lacey had also transformed, her smaller wolf as pure black as her human hair.

“You don’t want to do this, Brian,” her voice told him.  “This is your friend.  Control your wolf, Brian.”

“Hungry,” he thought, sending his message back to her in staccato thoughts.  “Blood.  Meat.”

“I know.  But you can control it.  Change back, and it will be ok.  Don’t kill.  Control.”

The human Brian sighed.  Brian’s wolf whimpered in frustration, but relaxed his muscles, although his eyes remained on Dan’s frozen form.

“I’ll be right back,” Lacey told him.  “You can change when I get back.  Control.  Breathe.”

“I will.”  Human Brian was stronger now.  He understood her message and was determined to follow directions.  He opened his mind and worked on holding.  He’d think about explaining after.

Dan was stunned.  One minute he was facing off against, Brian, the next he was face to face with a huge, growling brown wolf.  His hand went automatically for his weapon, but found nothing.  Moving back, he searched for anything he could use to defend himself.  Again nothing.  The wolf readied itself to pounce, and, backed against the wall, Dan closed his eyes and prayed.

A muffled moan caused him to open his eyes, and now there were two wolves.  The smaller, black wolf was between Dan and the brown wolf.  It moved carefully, slowly, and with a whimper, the larger wolf dropped its attack pose.  The smaller wolf padded out of the room, while the larger stayed, eyes still glued to Dan’s motionless form.

Within a few minutes, but an interminably long amount of time for Dan, Lacey walked back into the room, wrapped in a flannel bathrobe.  She approached the brown wolf with a blanket, draping it over his body.  “Now,” she said quietly, and in front of Dan’s disbelieving eyes, the wolf stretched and changed into Brian—a naked, sweaty Brian, who wrapped the blanket toga-style around his body as he rose from the ground.

“What the…?” was all that Dan could manage. His legs suddenly felt weak.

“Sit down,” Lacey told him, lending him an arm to lean on.  “Sit down.  I’ll get us some tea, and we’ll try to explain.”

It took three pots of tea and more than that number of cookies before Dan achieved understanding.  Setting down his cup, he looked first at Brian, then at Lacey.  “I think,” he said firmly, “that we need to call an emergency meeting of the Bob-Whites.”

December 16th

4:00 p.m.

The Bob-Whites were assembled in Brian’s living room.  Brian stood nervously behind Honey’s chair, his hands tapping aimlessly on his thighs.

“Where is Dan?” Trixie asked impatiently, tossing her blonde curls.  “He called this meeting, he should at least be here.”  She looked at Jim, seated next to her on the sofa for confirmation.

Jim patted her shoulder.  “He’ll be here, Trix,” he assured her.  “Dan said he was bringing a guest.”

“Do you think it’s that Maureen he mentioned?” Diana asked, her brow wrinkling.  “That seems kind of fast—even for Dan.”

Her question went unanswered as the door opened, revealing Dan and Lacey.  He ushered her in and hung up her coat.  Facing his friends, he introduced her, “Everyone, this is Lacey.  Lacey, this is my best friend, Mart, his wife, Diana, Mart’s sister Trixie, her fiancé, Jim, Jim’s sister, Honey, and you know Honey’s fiancé, Brian.”

“You know Brian?” Honey asked, looking up at Brian, her eyes guarded.  His heart lurched, and he nodded.  “Yes, Honey,” he said.  “I met Lacey at the hospital eleven days ago.  She’s here because I need her here.”  He looked at the others.  Trixie looked stunned, and Jim just looked murderous.  Licking his lips, Brian continued.  “Dan called this meeting so I could explain some things.  Lacey’s here to help me.”

“You brought your girlfriend here in front of my sister?” Jim asked, his face nearly as red as his hair. “You bastard!”

“No!” Brian struggled against the anger rising inside of him at the accusation.  Breathing deep, he said, “Lacey’s not my girlfriend.  She was my last patient at Kings.  Please.  Let me explain.”

Dan brought a chair out of the kitchen nook for Lacey, standing behind her as Brian stepped forward and began the story.  “I only had forty-five minutes left in my shift when the ambulances hit the bay…

“…I know it sounds crazy, but it’s true.  Lacey is teaching me to control it.  If I can control it, it might not be permanent.  If I kill someone… well, I won’t be able to live with myself.”

“You’re a werewolf?” Trixie asked, her blue eyes skeptical.  “Do you really expect us to believe that, Brian?”

“No,” he answered her.  “But it’s true.”  He looked at Lacey for reassurance.  She nodded, and he sighed.  “Give me a minute, and I’ll show you.”  Brian hurried into his bedroom and pulled an old bathrobe out of the closet, and a blanket off the shelf.  Moving to the bathroom, he stripped down to his underwear and took care of business.  Wrapping the robe around himself, he returned to the living room.  Shrugging the robe off his shoulders, but holding it loosely around his body, he closed his eyes and focused on his wolf, allowing his body to stretch and change.  In wolf form, he looked around at the stunned faces of his family and friends.  They seemed frozen with shock, and both his human and wolf hearts sank.  He could smell their fear--hear their hearts racing with it.  He dropped his head to his paws, and whimpered.

A hand, gentle and tentative, touched the top of his head.  He looked up to see Honey, her beautiful hazel eyes wet with tears.  Slowly, she placed her hand, palm up, under his nose.  Brian sniffed it.  She smelled of soap and wildflowers.  There was no fear on her skin.  He licked her hand, and she giggled, returning her hand to his head, and scratching his ears.  “I love you Brian,” she whispered.  “Do you understand me?”  All he could manage was another whimper, and a groan from deep in his throat, but she seemed to understand his answer.  “Good,” she said.  “Now change back, so we can work this out.”

Brian looked over at Dan, and Dan walked over to him, draping the wolf with the blanket.  Changing, Brian reached for his bathrobe, tying it tightly around his naked body before emerging from under the blanket.

“Are you sure, Honey?” he asked, his eyes locked on hers.  “I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to walk away from…this…from me.  This isn’t what you signed on for.”

Honey looked at him, color rising on her face. “Have you lost your mind?” she asked.  “I waited through high school for you to notice me—really notice me.  Then, I waited while you finished college and medical school.  I waited through your residency, and through this fellowship that took you an ocean away from me.  When you proposed to me at my graduation last June I was happier than I’ve ever been.  Finally, I didn’t have to wait anymore.”  Her eyes hardened, and her chin rose defiantly.  “Everything is set for our wedding in June, and there is no way in hell we’re going to change it now.  I don’t care if you’re a doctor, lawyer, beggar or wolf.  You’re mine, Brian Belden.  I love you, and I will not give you up.  Not now.  Not ever!”

Brian took two steps forward, and had her in his arms.  “Thank you,” he whispered into her hair.  “I love you so much.”

“None of us are giving up on you, Brian,” Trixie said.  “All for one, remember?” 

She looked around the room, and Brian followed her gaze, noting that all of Bob-Whites were nodding in agreement.  Joy filled his heart, and with the rise of emotion, he felt his body begin to shift.  Stepping back from Honey, he closed his eyes and concentrated on breathing.

“What do we know?” Mart asked.  “What do we need to find out?  Those are the things we need to concentrate on.  What do you know, Lacey?”

Under control once more, Brian sat down and pulled Honey onto his lap.  Lacey bit her lip and began.  “I was born this way, and until a few days ago, I never really thought about the reborn.  My sister-in-law is a reborn, but she chose it voluntarily, to be with my brother Reginald.  I’ve asked my mother to research it for me, and she believes she knows who the renegade is.”

“The one who attacked you and turned Brian?” Jim asked.

“Yes.  If Mum’s right, his name is Selwyn Renshaw.  He’s a Ragabash who went rogue two years ago.  He’s killed nine people so far, including the two here in London.”

“What is Ragabash?” Diana asked.  “Is it like a tribe?”

“No,” Lacey told her.  “It refers to the moon under which one is born.  I was born under the half moon, so I am Philodox.  My brothers were both born beneath the full moon, so they are Ahroun—hunters.  Ragabash are born under the new moon.  They tend to be unstable, so our people try to avoid giving birth doing that time of the cycle.”

“What did he want with you?” Diana asked.  “Have you ever met him?”

Lacey shook her head.  “Never.  Mum thinks he probably scented my wolf and decided he wanted me for his mate.  Renshaw was banished from his tribe, so no sane woman would choose him as her mate.”

Jim frowned.  “So, this Renshaw character tried to make you his mate?  How did he expect to do this?”

“Wolves mate for life,” Lacey explained.  “Because of that, we’re very careful with our selection.  If Renshaw could entice me to change, he could subdue me and force me to accept him.”  She shrugged.  “He is very large.  My wolf is smaller.  So I didn’t change—not when he taunted me, not when he strangled me, not even when he killed those men. I feel terribly guilty about them, but I was trying to protect myself.”

“As you should have,” Honey told her, wrapping her arms around Brian’s neck.  “I don’t like bullies.  Not when they’re men, nor when they’re animals.”

“Well, Renshaw is a bully in both forms.  That’s what got him banished.”

“That’s all well and good,” Jim said, “but what can we do about it?”

“That’s where it gets tricky,” Brian told them, taking back the discussion.  “Lacey’s brothers are coming in tomorrow.  They plan to hunt down Renshaw.”

“Will they kill him?” Diana asked, her lavender eyes wide.

“Yes,” Lacey answered bluntly.  “He’s broken the laws of both sides.  We do not kill people.  It is forbidden except for cases of self defense, and it is even more forbidden to turn someone against his will.”

“When he dies, will that turn Brian back?” Trixie asked.

“Not exactly,” Brian answered, feeling a little sick. 

“Well, what will turn you back?” his persistent little sister inquired.

“Nothing I can do,” Brian said.  He took a ragged breath, and pushed forward. 

“The heart thing?” Mart asked him.  Brian looked at his brother in surprise.  Mart rolled his eyes. “I took mythology in college, remember?  There are two ways to kill a werewolf—cut off the head, or cut out the heart.  If you kill the head werewolf and eat his heart, any of the folk he’s turned will revert back to human.  Right?”

Brian shook his head. “Maybe,” he said, “maybe not.  What I do know for sure is that this isn’t some sort of supernatural curse.  This is a genetic change.  I don’t see how eating someone—or something’s heart can reverse a genetic mutation.  It isn’t scientifically feasible.”

“There hasn’t been an involuntary changing in more than century,” Lacey added.  “My mother has reviewed the records.  And before that, all we have are folk tales and remedies, legends and rumors.  We didn’t even know about the genetics until midway through the twentieth century.”

“I’m willing to do more research,” Mart volunteered.  “I just need access to a library.”

“My student identification can get you access to Kings library,” Lacey offered, “and much of the National Archives is online.  My mother would have access to the information that isn’t public.”

“Your mother sounds amazing,” Diana said.

“She is,” Lacey agreed.  “She’s a member of the Elder Counsel, and one of the archivists.  She was horrified by what happened, and I promise that if there’s a way to help Brian, she’ll tell us.”  She frowned.  “The problem,” she said, “is that there is so much misinformation, that it’s difficult to know what is true and what is legend—like the eating of the heart.  It’s true that the only way to kill us—minus disease and old age—is to cut of our heads or remove our hearts, but it is also written that we must shift at the full moon whether we chose of not, and that’s not true at all.”

“Really?” Trixie asked.  She flushed.  “I mean, I believe you, but the moon is full now, so…”

“The pull may become stronger under the birth moon,” Lacey told her.  “I feel it more at the half, because I am Philodox, but I am never compelled to change because of the moon—nor am I forbidden.  Sometimes strong emotion makes it harder to control, but the choice is always mine.”

“What time does the library at Kings close?” Mart asked.

“Nine,” Lacey answered.

“Then I’d like to go now and start searching,” he said.  “After it closes I can check out the online stuff.  The more information we have, the better.”

“We’ll all go,” Honey said, once again surprising Brian with her determination.  “If we’re all searching, we can move more quickly—and I think we all agree that time is of the essence.”

“I’ll call a cab,” Jim said.  “In fact, I’ll call a couple of cabs.  I don’t think we should be out on the streets with this Renshaw on the loose—especially not with Lacey.  That’s like dangling a Scooby Snack in front of Scooby-Doo.”

“While I find the comparison a bit insulting,” Lacey said, “I can’t fault your logic.  Besides, there is strength in numbers.”

“Then it’s settled!”  Trixie scrambled to her feet, ready for action.  “Call the cabs, Jim, and let’s go find a cure.  All for one?”

“One for all,” Dan said, holding his hand out, palm down.  Trixie covered it with hers, followed in short order by the rest of the Bob-Whites.  “You, too, Lace,” Dan encouraged, “it’s a tradition.”

Slowly Lacey added her hand Brian’s, adding her own twist to the positive energy already surging as if from their very souls.  It was warm and encouraging, and for the first time in a very long while, he actually felt hopeful.

December 17th

Lacey’s brothers, Reginald and Oliver arrived with the dawn.  Since none of the researchers had made it to bed before 3:00a.m, Reginald and Oliver Woods found themselves met at the door by a rather grumpy and exhausted Brian, flanked by equally disgruntled Jim and Dan.

Bleary eyed, Brian stared at the men.  They were tall with the same black hair and dark eyes as their sister, but there the resemblance ended.  Where Lacey was delicate, these men were heavily muscled.  Where she was slender and feminine, these two exuded power and masculinity.  They were on guard, Brian realized, their wolves close enough to the surface that he could smell them, his own unwelcome force rising to greet them.

Forcing a smile, and breathing deeply, Brian opened the door. “You must be Reg and Oliver,” he said.  “Come in.”

They did--cautious but confident, taking in everything around them.  Brian quickly stripped his sheets from the sofa and invited them to sit.  “Sorry for the mess,” he said formally.  “We were up very late, so I put my mattress in the girls’ room for Lacey.  He moved to the alcove to dump the bedding, and when he turned around, Lacey was standing in front of her brothers, a sleepy looking Trixie and Honey standing behind her.

Introductions made, Honey turned to the rest of the Bob-Whites.  “Why don’t we go wake up Di and Mart and get ready for the day?” she suggested.  “We can give Brian a chance to get acquainted before breakfast.”

Brian could see his confusion at Honey’s suggestion echoed in the faces of his sister and friends, but he simply shrugged to let them know he was fine.  As the four of them disappeared down the hall, he sat down opposite the brothers, and helped Lacey fill them in about the situation.

Thirty minutes later, all ten of them were crowded into the living room eating Mart’s British twist on a breakfast sandwich—a ham and Stilton mini omelet set between two toasted crumpets. Reg, the older brother took the lead.  “Oliver and I have been reading up on Selwyn Renshaw.  We believe we can track him, as he’s become quite reckless in his pursuit of our sister.”

“Are you sure it’s him?” Brian asked uneasily.  “You’re talking about…killing…a living…person.  I’m not comfortable with that at all—less so if there’s any doubt.”

“There isn’t.”  Oliver assured him.  He opened the messenger bag at his feet and pulled out a file.  “We have our own forensic data base.  Here.”  He handed the file to Brian.  “It’s a full-out match for Selwyn Renshaw.  The genetic markers couldn’t be clearer.”

“How did you get this information?” Brian asked.  He was looking at hospital records, coroner reports and police evidence charts.

“There are nearly 200,000 shifters across the world,” Reg explained.  “It’s a miniscule amount in comparison to the total population, but most of us are intelligent, charismatic people.  We tend to find ourselves in positions of, shall we say, authority.”

“It helps us keep things level,” Oliver added.  “Occasionally, one goes rogue, gets a taste for blood, and needs to be removed.  We generally live below the radar—as evidenced by the fact that we haven’t had an involuntary conversion in over a century.”

Brian struggled internally with himself.  He was a healer.  What the Woods brothers were discussing involved the taking of lives.  Intellectually, he understood it.  Emotionally, a part of him resented Renshaw, and wanted him to pay for what he had caused.  But, as a doctor, the idea of killing was completely reprehensible.  Biting down on his lip, Brian asked, “Do you think it will work?  Eat…eating his heart?”

“We don’t know.”  Reg was honest.  “There isn’t any hard evidence that it does, nor that it doesn’t.  We do know that bacteria in our saliva can cause the mutation.  It is possible that an enzyme in the blood of the mutate-or could reverse the process.  After all, research shows us that the bacteria can be killed by immediate, broad spectrum antibiotic application.”

“What if it doesn’t work?” Brian met Honey’s eyes, the pure love shining from her making his despair a little deeper.  “How do I live like this?  I can’t kill myself.”

“Of course you can’t!” Diana exclaimed.  “That’s ridiculous!”

“No,” Brian explained.  “I can’t—even if I wanted to.”

“What do you mean?” Trixie asked, her eyes narrowing.

“He means he can’t physically take his own life,” Lacey spoke for the first time.  “In order to die before his natural time, he’d have to lose his head or heart.  Otherwise, he’ll recover.  Again and again.”

“You tried, didn’t you?” Jim asked.

Brian felt a wave of shame.  “Yes,” he admitted.  “The first night…after Lacey told me…after I understood.  I…I tried to overdose.  I did overdose.  I took enough pills to kill an elephant.  I should have died, but I just woke up with a headache and some heartburn.”  He looked away, unable to meet their eyes.  “I know it’s the cowardly way, but the idea of turning and…I saw what Renshaw did to those men.  I couldn’t live if I did something like that. I was…I was terrified.”

Oliver cleared his throat.  “So he called Lacey for help.  She called us.”  He turned his attention to Brian.  “We’ll capture Renshaw, have no doubt.  When we do, we’ll call.  You really don’t have anything to lose.  If it works, it works.  If it doesn’t, we have a network of people willing to help you adjust.”  He looked at the rest of the Bob-Whites.  “And,” he pointed out, ”you kind of have your own pack.”

“Oliver is right,” Honey said, rising to address the room.  “In fact, we’ve discussed it.  If…doing this…doesn’t fix the problem, or if you can’t do it, we all want to be changed.  We’ll go through this together, Brian.  All of us just like always.”

“No!”  Shaking his head, Brian stood up, too.  “No!  No way!  No how!”  He looked at his family.  “I won’t stand for it.  You can’t.  I wouldn’t ask it.  I don’t want it.”

“We already voted,” Trixie told him.  “It was unanimous.”

“No, it wasn’t,” Brian argued, trying hard to keep a lid on the emotions raging through him.  “I vote no.”

“Fine,” Honey responded, hazel eyes blazing. “With your vote it’s 6-1.  The motion still passes.  The decision still stands.”

Brian looked at each of them in turn.  Not a single one refused to meet his eye.  All he saw was love and determination staring back at him.  Still, he shook his head in protest.  “You don’t want this,” he said.  “The first time was torture, and it’s hard to control.  You don’t want to be monsters.  I don’t want you to feel this.  Dan!” Brian looked to his friend, begging for his support.  “Dan, I almost killed you. I had you cornered, and I wanted to rip out your throat.  You don’t want that, do you?”

“You didn’t, though,” Dan told him.  “You controlled it, Brian, and if we need to, we’ll learn to control it too.  We’ll help each other through it.”

“You’re our leader, Brian,” Mart said.  “Don’t you understand?”  He held out his hands.  “I’m book smart.  Dan has the street smarts, and Jim has the nature smarts.  The girls are the problem solvers, the heart and beauty of our club, but you, you hold us all together.  We look to you to fix us up and keep us moving forward.  We need you, in whatever way we can get you.”

Jim shrugged, and smiled at him.  “I understand how you feel, Brian,” he said.  “But we’ve decided.  We’re all adults.  We make our own choices, and we have decided that we’re with you—no matter what.”

Emotion threatened to overwhelm him yet again.  Brian dropped back into his chair, hands over his face, trying to make sense of the conversation.  Trying to breathe himself back into control.  Looking up, he tried to think of what to say.  All he could manage was, “I can’t stop you, can I?”

“No.”  Diana, usually the quietest of the group stepped forward, pulling Mart with her.  Silently, the rest of the gang surrounded Brian.  “You can’t stop us, Brian,” she said.  “One way or another, we’ll be with you.”

Brian just looked at them, unable to deny them despite his own reservations.  They were his, and he was theirs.

Reginald broke the silence.  “We’re going to take Lacey home, and get on the hunt,” he said.  “We’ll call you when we have him, Brian, so you can make your decision.”  Brian looked up at the hunter.  Rising from the chair he moved toward him, hand outstretched.  Shaking his hand, Reg nodded his approval.  “No matter what happens,” he said, “You’ve got a hell of a pack behind you.  You’re a lucky man.”

“You’re right about that,” Brian told him.  “I’ll be waiting.  We’ll be waiting.  Together.”

As the hunters left with Lacey, Brian turned back to his family.  His friends.  His pack.

And so I leave it up to the imagination of you, dear reader.  Oliver and Reginald did indeed track and capture Selwyn Renshaw.  You decide, though.  Did Brian tear out the heart of this man-wolf and eat it?  If he did, did it work?  Or did the Bob-Whites convert, and spend the rest of their days as a half-wolf pack, doing good and occasionally chasing Mr. Lytell through the Preserve?

Author’s Notes

If you’ve made it this far, I commend you!  This turned out to be a rather long story.

I stol…borrowed...my information regarding the birth moon attributes and names from a role playing game called Werewolf: the Apocalypse.  I’ve never played it, but I liked the way they described things, so I used it.  I didn’t ask permission, and I am not making any money off of it.

The photos are mostly stock internet shots.  Used without permission and not for profit.  The symbol on the necklace (and Lacey’s door) is wolfsangel.  It originated in runes and as a heraldic symbol.  It was turned on its side and used by the Nazis.  I liked its name, so I used it in its original form.

Lacey Woods is a real person.  She is my friend and fellow secret ninja-spy.  Our kids are close in age. She is not, to my knowledge, a shape shifter, nor does she have brothers named Reginald and Oliver—but she does have a Chihuahua named Oliver.  I thought that was amusing.

I couldn’t finish this, because both of the potential solutions to Brian’s problem were reprehensible to him.  I couldn’t force him to make a choice between two equally horrific options. 

I also realize that the idea of Brian attempting suicide is hard to grasp—but you have to believe he was truly at the lowest possible point in his life.  He was all alone and terrified.  His family was about to arrive, and he really feared that he would hurt them—physically.  When he left Lacey that first night, he was sick at thought of what he had become.  When suicide didn’t work, he was depressed—but resigned to his fate—hence the “sad” comment from the cab driver.

Now that the notes are as long as the story, let me thank you again for reading.  I’d like to give a huge “Thank You” to Ryl and Mal for the challenge.  I always enjoy stretching myself, and this was quite a stretch.  Grazi, Ladies!

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